


Shatter me

by maxwellandlovelace



Category: Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: After HoF, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, M/M, Mild torture, chaorian - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2020-09-29 17:22:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20439698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maxwellandlovelace/pseuds/maxwellandlovelace
Summary: What if Dorian hadn't been able to completely stop the arrow at the end of Heir of Fire?





	1. The first day

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back writing fanfic again. It's my first ToG fic so be gentle with me. My wonderful friend Pikelet184 betaed this for me. Remaining mistakes are mine.

_ **Chaol** _

The former Captain of the Royal Guard was not ready to die. Ever since they’d brought him to his cell there was one thing—one _person_—keeping him alive.

Dorian.

His name had become a mantra. Repeated every time Chaol forced the food down his throat. Drank the water. He wanted—no, he _needed_ to know that everything had not been in vain.

Dorian was the sole reason Chaol was still clinging to the life of the living. His magic had managed to knock the arrow off its path toward Chaol’s heart, but not miss him completely, the festering wound in his shoulder serving as a reminder.

Terrified, he’d watched the King lock the collar around Dorian’s neck, his screams still echoing off the walls of the cell. If the guards hadn’t held him down, Chaol would’ve run to Dorian, taking his friend’s place. Because watching the Valg prince taking hold of Dorian, extinguishing the life in those sapphire eyes, was a sight that would haunt Chaol until the day they’d sever his head from his body. But he hadn’t. He’d failed him, yet again.

But he couldn’t let go. Not yet. One sign was all he needed. One sign that Dorian might recover. Maybe it was a childish dream, but he craved it so much he could almost taste it. And when he did, he would give in to the fate that he deserved. He’d sacrifice everything for him. His Crown Prince. His King.

_Dorian._

Chaol needed to know that he was still there, fighting the possession. If he could only see that, it all would’ve been worth it. He’d become a coward. A liar. A traitor. And he would do it all again if it meant that Dorian still had a fighting chance. But seeing that malicious blackness seep into Dorian’s eyes had sucked the life out of Chaol. A punch to the gut of which he still felt the aftershock. Pain radiating from his shoulder, out to the tips of his being, and back again, through the veins of his body. To his heart.

Time had become unimportant, a fleeting concept, serving no purpose for the damned. All he knew now was darkness. Not the welcoming kind, the one embracing you as you curled down under the blanket with… a loved one. No, this was the kind that brought your worst nightmares back to life, the kind that made you wonder if you were even still alive, or if this was a sick punishment from a greater deity, making you pay for all of your sins.

But it didn’t matter.

  
Chaol knew the stone floor was cold, but he barely felt it. There was no energy left in him to care. To do anything other than lie down. To wait. For food. A beating. For death. There was no reason for him to be alive. With Dorian gone, he no longer filled a purpose. He’d betrayed the crown, was disowned by his father. Now he was only a nuisance, taking up a cell, eating, breathing, distracting guards that could do something more important.

A sliver of light peeked through the door that slowly opened, forcing Chaol to cover his eyes, the joints in his good shoulder snapping as he did. Carefully, Chaol moved his hand. The brightness blinded him but he compelled himself to look up. The stubbornness to not let them see that they had defeated him made Chaol command his head to face his visitor. It wasn’t a guard. No armor. Only a tunic and black pants. Dark hair.

And a black collar.

“Dorian.” His voice was hoarse after not speaking since… Since… Was he really here? _Why_ was he here?

He didn’t speak, only stepped into the cell. The light behind him surrounded him like an aura and made him look like an angel. Maybe he was. _Yes, he definitely was._

“Dorian,” Chaol whispered again.

The tiny fragment of hope surging through Chaol the moment he saw Dorian was crushed the second the prince opened his mouth. “Captain.” The voice was monotone, revealing no emotion. _Valg._ But Chaol savored it anyway. It had been too long since he’d heard his voice, and he wanted more. He would live and die all over again for this moment. In the not-so-distant future when they finally decided to kill him, this would be the moment before his eyes, etched in his brain.

It was useless, but he pleaded anyway. “Please.” He crawled over to Dorian, gently placing his fingers on his feet, surrendering to the prince’s mercy. “Please, let him go. I’ll do anything.”

Dorian slowly lifted his right foot, placing it close to Chaol’s chin to tilt his head up. His eyes locked onto Chaol’s, keeping him in place better than any chain could. Chaol’s muscles relaxed. So much that when the foot forcefully shoved him away he didn’t have time to brace himself. Before he knew it, he was on his back with Dorian standing next to his head, looking down on him. “You give yourself way too much credit, Captain. What difference do you think you’d make? _A human_.”

Of course, the prince was right. Thinking he could make any difference was foolish. Conspiring with the rebels. A naive boy thinking he could save the world, and now he was drowning in his own arrogance. And the only person he’d ever truly cared about was gone. Standing before him. But gone.

Dorian sat on his haunches, finally letting Chaol get a look at his face. Stoic. Jaw clenched. Nothing blue left in those black eyes. No reason to believe that there was anything other than a demon inside him. Still, it was the most beautiful thing Chaol had ever seen.

“Dorian. Show me something. Anything. And I’ll let go.”

Nothing. There was nothing there. Only the blank stare of a shell of a man. Chaol didn’t resist when Dorian grabbed hold of the collar of his shirt, tearing it open to reveal the wound in his shoulder. It was only patched up to prevent him from bleeding out. Ripping off the bandaid, Dorian plunged a finger into the hole that the arrow had left. Chaol couldn’t contain the cry erupting from him, and he screamed as white exploded in front of his eyes. As his friend twisted his finger, curled it. Every movement was a bolt of lightning, shooting the intense pain throughout Chaol’s body. Tears ran down his cheeks, heat flared, and the pounding in his head was the only thing Chaol could hold on to, to not pass out. When he started to shiver, he knew that this agony was the worst he’d ever felt. Then it disappeared.

Unceremoniously, Chaol was pulled up to his feet and shackled to the chains fastened to the wall. The iron cuffs gnawed at his wrists but Chaol welcomed it. Anything to distract him from what he knew was about to happen.

The sinister smile spreading on Dorian’s lips was worse than anything Chaol could ever have imagined. He’d been trained for this, for pushing through the physical pain, but his friend enjoying being the cause of it… It wasn’t really Dorian, he knew that, but the image in front of him told a different story. Separating reality from imagination became more difficult as Dorian—_no, not Dorian_—pulled out a knife. Chaol hadn’t seen it on him as he entered the cell, yet there it was. Dorian trailed the edge along Chaol’s cheek, the one already scarred from another mistake. Blood trickled down Chaol’s neck, soaking his torn tunic.

Chaol shut his eyes, willing away the image.

“It doesn’t help, Captain,” he taunted, drawing out the last word. In an instant his mouth was only an inch from Chaol’s ear, his breath tickling his skin. “Open your eyes.” Chaol didn’t. “Open your eyes or I’ll carve your eyelids off,” he hissed.

So Chaol did. He forced himself to watch as his friend dragged the knife along his body. The blood pooled at his feet, sticking to his bruised skin. Finally, when he deemed himself finished, Dorian tossed the knife in the air. It made a full turn before landing in his hand again. With his gaze still locked on Chaol, he jammed the knife through his leg. Pain exploded from Chaol’s thigh, and the guttural scream from his throat bounced off the walls, intensifying it by the hundreds. But it couldn’t drown out the screams in his mind. Telling him to end this, whatever way possible. It will only get worse.

Chaol’s throat ached, but he forced himself to speak. “Why?” he croaked. “What do you want?”

“Oh, you’re mistaken. What could you possibly have that I want? No, Captain Westfall, I’m merely enjoying myself. You know, passing the time.”

This was his punishment then. He’d left his childhood home, abandoned his family and responsibilities, betrayed his country, failed his only friend. All for a dream that was now shattering before his eyes. 


	2. The second day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To everyone who's reading; thank you!
> 
> My friend, Pikelet184, betated this for me! You're the best! <3

** _Chaol_ **

His hair had grown longer, and as the sweat dried it stuck to his forehead. He’d gotten used to sleeping on the hard floor by now. Really, it didn’t take that long. As Captain of the Guard, he slept when he could, where he could, and that was not always in a warm bed.

Two people stood at the door as it opened, but Chaol’s eyes immediately went to Dorian.

He didn’t know how long it had been since Dorian was here the last time, and, on instinct, Chaol’s spirit lifted at the sight of his best friend. But the dark eyes and black collar pushed his thoughts back to the brutal reality.

As he searched Dorian’s face for any signs of…  _ Dorian _ , the other man grabbed him and shackled him to the wall, iron digging into his wrists. He welcomed it. The pain. 

“Dorian,” he whispered, his best friend’s name the only thing keeping him sane. The only reason he even tried anymore.

“He’s gone, Captain,” the prince said, the coldness in his friend’s voice was impossible to reconcile with the warmth and kindness Chaol had always associated with Dorian. The contrast confused him, ripped him apart.

“No. Please… Let it...” He couldn’t finish the sentence, and he looked away. Watching that face that had previously only held affection and compassion was torture. Because now, the only thing Chaol saw was death. Blackness. It killed him, more than any sword would.

The prince grabbed his chin, forcing Chaol to face him. “Let it  _ what _ ?” he demanded. It was Dorian’s voice, but at the same time... not. The conflicting emotions battled in his brain, giving him a headache. 

“Let it be worth it,” he managed to get out, not for the Valg prince, not for himself, but maybe… maybe Dorian would hear him and know that Chaol had not abandoned him. Everything and everyone else, yes, but not Dorian. Never Dorian.

Dorian took his other hand, pushing Chaol’s hair away from his forehead. It was so close to something Dorian—the  _ real _ Dorian—might have done, that for a moment, a brief second, Chaol closed his eyes, revelling in the touch of his best friend. The only person he had ever trusted sifted his fingers through his hair, and, only for a moment, Chaol let himself imagine another time. Another place. Where he could enjoy this touch.

_ Dorian’s fingers brushed his forehead. “Chaol,” he whispered. “Roland’s a piece of shit, and Lithaen is a fool with poor judgment.” _

_ He knew that, but it didn’t help. It still hurt. This had been his chance to finally move on. Move on from the sting in his heart every time yet another woman left Dorian’s chambers. Hell, who’s the piece of shit  _ now _ ? He deserved this. The pain that he felt now, and would be for a long time. He deserved it. All of it. _

_ “No.” Dorian’s voice interrupted his self-pity. “I know what you’re doing, and it’s not your fault.” _

_ Oh, but it was. He was at as much fault as Lithaen was. She had realized that he’d never love her the way that she wanted or deserved, the way he loved Dorian. Who was  _ he _ to blame  _ her _ for finding someone else? Chaol had used her. He was the one at fault in this situation, not her. He had led her on, making her believe that he loved her. In a way, he did, yet his heart didn’t belong to her. _

_ But he couldn’t tell Dorian that. So he let him believe the tears were for her, not Dorian. For what Chaol knew he would never have. Another sob escaped his throat, and Dorian embraced him, letting Chaol rest his head on his chest. And for only one second Chaol let himself imagine it was real. _

With a jerk of his hair, Chaol was quickly yanked back to reality, the demon-prince in front of him sneering as he could read Chaol’s thoughts. He held Chaol’s hair in a tight fist, locking his gaze with Chaol’s. Despite the demon lurking in there, Chaol still imagined he could see the depth in the prince’s expression. That depth only contained darkness, but yet, it was still there. The punch to his stomach came unexpected and it took Chaol’s breath away, but the shackles kept him from instinctively crouching over.

“You do know that treason in punishable by death?” the prince said, as Chaol caught his breath.

“What’s taking you so long?” Chaol choked out, forcing his gaze to his feet. His chin was jerked upward, forcing his face a mere ince from Dorian. No. There was nothing there.

“Finally! Some personality.  _ Now _ you want to die? Where was this eagerness to the afterlife before you fucked up this city?  _ Your _ city.  _ Your _ country.”

The shame of Chaol’s betrayal made his heart ache. Acid cursed through his veins and smoke grated his lungs. He’d thought he’d done the right thing. But everything had backfired when he’d forced his best friend to expose his magic to the king. He might as well have locked the collar around Dorian’s neck himself. He could blame whoever he wanted but deep down he knew that he was the root cause of what was happening right now.

This time, the sight of the prince’s knife didn’t catch Chaol by surprise. The last time he was here he’d cut shallow lines all over Chaol’s arms and torso. They were not near deep enough to be life-threatening, but Chaol would never forget the sharp pain every time the cold metal had pierced his skin. The remnants of the prince’s treatment were scabbing and Chaol knew that if they’d let him live longer they’d eventually scar.

The tip of the dagger slowly pressed into the wound on his thigh. Inch by painful inch, the prince pushed and twisted it to cause the maximum amount of damage. As much as Chaol had trained for enduring this type of pain, he couldn’t contain the guttural cry erupting from his throat. He didn’t know how long the prince had been at it when he deemed himself finished with Chaol’s thigh for the moment. The blood pulsed out of the open wound, the warm liquid running down his leg. Chaol hoped the prince had hit an artery so that he’d bleed out here and now. He’d thought he could survive this, but he couldn’t.

Dorian trailed the tip of his knife along the marks he’d created last time. The edge following the same path as before, ending only an inch from his heart.

_ Chaol gently pressed the tip of his wooden sword against Dorian’s chest, right above his heart. He was lying back down in the grass of the training grounds right outside the castle. “You still leave your left side unguarded when you strike.” _

_ Dorian just grinned, not seeming to care that he lost. Instead, he swatted Chaol’s sword away, and Chaol offered his hand to pull him up. “Yes, mother,” he said, smiling, as he brushed the dirt off his tunic. _

_ Pointing at the prince with his sword, Chaol only said, “Ass.” _

_ “Oh, but a nice piece of ass.” _

_ “Yes, I’m sure all the ladies agree,” Chaol deadpanned, glancing up to the women standing on the castle wall, observing the Crown Prince and Chaol sparring. They’d been at it for over an hour and the sun was unforgiving, heating their bodies so not only were their loose clothing was clinging to them but the sweat was dripping from both their foreheads. _

_ “Hmm? I didn’t notice.” _

_ “Right…” Chaol pushed the thought from his mind. It really was hot today. So he pulled the sweat-soaked shirt over his head and swiped some of the sweat away. “You ready to go again?” _

_ Dorian did the same, removing the loose tunic and revealing his muscled chest. “Bring it, Cap.” _

_ He didn’t like that. Chaol hadn’t earned the title yet, and Dorian taunting him with it only made matters worse. Knowing that Dorian already saw him as the Captain of the Guard filled Chaol with such pride, but he didn’t want to disappoint him either, which was what he would do if he failed. _

_But boy did Chaol bring it. It was the only thing keeping his mind in check. To focus on anything but the color of Dorian’s eyes, the sweat glistening along his arms, hands… He shoved those thoughts away, losing himself in the training. Pushing himself, focusing on the task at hand instead of ogling_ _Dorian’s well-sculpted body._

_ Dorian was an excellent swordsman, but Chaol was older and better trained, not to mention the amount of extra training required from the guards serving in the palace. Dorian held his own against Chaol but after a couple of minutes, Chaol had managed to disarm him and placing his mock sword against Dorian’s throat. _

_ “Change hands,” was the only thing he said. Being ambidextrous was a strength Dorian didn’t even know he possessed. But Chaol had noticed, and he took advantage when he could. He knew Dorian favored his left hand, but being able to use both hands was a gift that Chaol wanted to hone. If the time came, it could possibly save his life, and Chaol wanted Dorian to make that switch instinctively. _

_ Reluctantly, Dorian changed sword hands. “Afraid I’m getting too good for you?” _

_ “Maybe,” Chaol said, again lunging himself at Dorian. He deflected most of Chaol’s strikes, but since his right hand was not Dorian’s strong suit he ended up with his back against the ground and Chaol’s sword against his throat once again. _

_ The sigh from his Crown Prince hit him hard. “How will I ever get taken seriously if I keep falling down on my ass?” _

Oh. _ “I didn’t… That was not my intention, Dorian.” Chaol threw his wooden sword in the ground. He’d forgotten that even though they were friends, they were not equals. Dorian was his Prince, his superior. “Tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.” He was such a sucker for this man, and he didn’t even care. If Dorian wanted to have a sword fight in front of the entire court, Chaol would gladly lose against him if that’s what Dorian wanted. _

_ “Don’t.” He got up, pointing his sword toward Chaol. “If I’d wanted to win, I’d pick anyone else in the guard. I want to learn. I’m frustrated with myself, not you.” _

_ That. Right there. There was the Dorian Chaol knew and loved. That will to always learn and improve. To be a better man. And of all the guards, he’d chosen Chaol. _

_ “Okay, then.” Chaol picked up his sword. “Again. I won’t go easy this time,” he said, smiling, as he lunged for Dorian as soon as he was on his feet again. And he didn’t, but Dorian held his own far longer than the prince ever gave himself credit for.  _

_ It wasn’t until the sun was setting that Chaol was again reminded of their status. They were friends, but it still tugged at his heart when the retiring Captain approached them. He had his hand on his heart as he looked to the prince, not acknowledging Chaol. “Your Highness. His Majesty requests your presence.” _

_ Dorian’s shoulders slumped. Not appropriate for a royal, but Chaol didn’t care and the Captain didn’t comment. “And what if I refuse?” he asked jokingly, but Chaol suspected there was more weight behind the question than Dorian let on. _

_ The Captain froze. “I…” he hesitated, seemingly unsure of how to answer. _

_ But before he could finish the sentence, Dorian continued, “Never mind.” He pulled on his discarded tunic, the soft fabric clinging to his sweaty skin. His gaze found Chaol’s as the Crown Prince handed him his practice sword and trailed the Captain toward the castle.  _

_ Chaol watched the two walk along the castle wall, the lingering looks of the ladies still there following the young prince’s every move. A lump formed in Chaol’s throat, but he swallowed it down as he gathered his own clothing and the swords he’d brought. He both enjoyed and dreaded the time he got to spend with Dorian. His wits, his intelligence, his kindness. It was a blessing. But the torture of not being completely honest with Dorian and feeling that their friendship was not enough for Chaol was a steady and unpleasant reminder. And the day Dorian found someone to spend his life with was a day Chaol feared he might not survive. _

How naive he’d been. Believing that Dorian marrying was the worst thing that could happen to him. He’d gladly trade that for what was standing here before him today. He’d give anything for that, including his life. 

The prince’s procedure was similar to the last time. The dagger slicing the skin across Chaol’s torso, reopening the semi-healed wounds.

When Chaol thought the blood loss would claim his consciousness the prince stopped, the blessing of passing out just outside Chaol’s grasp. 

He’d thought he could do it. Hold on. Hold on for Dorian. He had tried, but in the end, he wasn’t strong enough for this either. He closed his eyes, tried to find the last bit of strength in him and threw his head back against the wall.

The sharp pain from the back of his skull was a cruel awakening. He’d failed. Again. He couldn’t even kill himself. “Just do it,” he croaked. Chaol’s legs gave out, the shackles around his wrists was the only thing keeping him from crumpling to the floor. The prince didn’t seem to react, but Chaol forced himself to look at Dorian. To plead for any type of mercy left in his best friend. The tears in his eyes blurred his vision, the features of Dorian’s face mixing with the background, his hair indistinguishable from the wall behind him. Chaol drew a breath and whispered his selfish request. “Kill me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I appreciate kudos and nice comments! 
> 
> You can also come talk to me on tumblr: maxwellandlovelace.


	3. The final day

** _Chaol_ **

The wish that Chaol had expressed to Dorian was truthful, but he’d never expected this reaction. Instead of taunting him or fulfilling his request, the prince had simply left, pretending not to hear Chaol’s plea at all.

Oh, how Chaol had wished he’d just killed him right there and then. Instead, complete indifference. His eyes were cold as he released Chaol from his grip and left the cell.

Chaol didn’t know how long it was before the door to his cell opened again. It could’ve been hours, days, weeks. Whatever sense of time he had before was gone. He couldn’t even remember if he’d had anymore visits from Dorian. And wasn’t that a sign? He couldn’t even remember if the most important person in his life had been there. He really did deserve to die.

They cleaned him up but didn’t bother covering up the bruises. He was put in his old armor. The Captain’s uniform. Beaten. But pretty. Two guards he didn’t recognize flanked him, holding each of his arms, as if he was a flight risk. The shackles around his ankles clanked as he was pulled along the halls from the cells to the courtyard.

It was a sunny day, and Chaol would have shielded his eyes from the light if his arms hadn’t been locked in handcuffs. On one side of the inner wall was one of the most grim sights he had ever seen. From the windows the mutilated bodies of a guard were hanging.  _ His _ men. He’d failed them too, just like he’d failed Dorian.

Ress… He’d been a great guard, but most of all he was a trusted friend. And now he was hanging there, like a traitor, when Chaol knew he was nothing of the sort.

_ He didn’t know how long he had ridden. The days had started to melt together the closer he got to Rifthold. The pulsing gash on the side of his head, courtesy of his father, didn’t help either. But he somehow still managed to navigate through the streets and in front of the main gates of the castle. There were several archers perched along the top of the wall, but it was the guards at the enormous doors that Chaol focused on. The gates were open during the day and it was still not late enough for them to have been closed. _

_ “Halt!” one of the guards yelled and Chaol obeyed—he needed to be in these mens’ good graces if he was ever going to be let in. “State your business.” _

_ Chaol dismounted from his horse, wanting to be eye level with them. “The prince. I need to see the prince,” Chaol said in the steadiest voice he could muster. He still hadn’t fully recovered from the fall down the stairs in Anielle before he left, and he grabbed the reins of his horse to keep his balance. _

_ “The Crown Prince? Do you have an audience?” _

_ “No, I—” _

_ “Do you think anyone can just waltz in here and request a meeting with the royal family?” Laughter from some of the other men. _

_ “I know. I…” He really should have thought this through before he approached, but the relief in finally seeing the castle outweighed rational thinking, apparently. The truth was as good as any, he guessed. “I’m his friend.” _

_ “Friend? The Crown Prince doesn’t have friends. He has suitors,” the guard snickered. Chaol tried not to wince at that, but he didn’t know if he was successful. _

_ “Ask him.” _

_ “Son, you don’t disturb a member of the royal family just because a stranger wants to meet them.” _

_ Of course. It made sense. How was this guard supposed to know who Chaol was? That left him with only one choice. The one he would’ve hoped not to have to use, but it was worth it if it meant seeing Dorian. He stepped back to the saddle, reaching into the saddle bag to grab the crest of Anielle, the symbol of the heritage he’d cast aside. Stroking the ridges with the pad of his thumb Chaol reminded himself that this was what he wanted. Despite the scorn on his father’s face when he’d told him, Chaol didn’t waver in his decision. _

_ Returning to the guard, Chaol handed it over. “I’m Chaol Westfall and I request an audience with the Crown Prince.” The guard couldn’t ignore a formal request like that—he’d have to go through the proper channels. And with a little bit of luck he might recognize the name.  _

_ The guard inspected the crest, sighing. “You’d have to—” _

_ “Chaol!” _

_ At the sound of Dorian’s voice—he would recognize it anywhere—Chaol forgot the guard in front of him. The Crown Prince of Adarlan was standing in the middle of the open gates, a young guard behind him. Chaol’s legs almost gave out. Between the exhaustion and relief there was almost no strength left in his muscles. _

_ In an instant, the warmth of Dorian’s arms surrounded Chaol and he clung to his best friend, his fingers digging into Dorian’s shoulders as he let Dorian carry some of his weight. _

_ “Your Highness! You don’t know—” _

_ “I know him!” Dorian interrupted. He released Chaol and pushed back the hood over Chaol’s head. Immediately crinkles formed in his otherwise soft face. “What happened?” he whispered. _

_ “I left,” Chaol croaked. “I left Anielle. For good.” _

_ Dorian didn’t respond, only embraced Chaol once again. “Get a healer,” he ordered the guards. He let Chaol use him as a crutch as they limped through the open castle gates. _

_ “How did you know I was here?” Chaol wondered, his voice breaking. _

_ “One of the guards recognized you,” Dorian answered, indicating the young guard from before that was now trailing them. _

_ Chaol glanced back, making eye contact with the young man. _

_ “Thank you.” _

_ He tipped his head in acknowledgement. “I was only doing my duty.” _

_ “What’s your name?” _

_ “Ress.” _

  
  


Long curtains of blue fabric adorned the castle’s walls. Blue. Like sapphire. Like… Everything had been for nothing. In the end, nothing Chaol had done had made any difference. The Valg princes still roamed the streets of Rifthold, nothing seemed to threaten the King’s power, and Dorian… He was gone too.

But there he was, sitting on the dais next to his father. Despite the demon inside him, he still looked regal.

He would take this moment for himself, to take in the man he’d loved since childhood. To revel in his poise, and the authority with which he always carried himself. Chaol would cherish this moment and lock it in his heart. He let himself have these minutes before his life ended. He searched for Dorian’s eyes, but when the Crown Prince didn’t even acknowledge him, Chaol knew. Knew that he was gone. He would die, knowing that he couldn’t save his best friend.

Chaol kept his eyes downcast as he was seated on a stool, his handcuffs locked to a chain in the ground and his ankles released.

“What a morbid way to celebrate your birthday.” Aedion’s voice was surprisingly clear despite spending as much time as Chaol in a dungeon. Glancing up from his shackles, Chaol got a good look at his former ally. He wasn’t covered in bruises, at least no visible ones. But he could only guess what they’d done to him considering that Aedion had been conspiring against the King way longer than Chaol had. “What happened to your face, Captain?”

Oh, how he hated it. The Valg prince had taunted him with his former title several times. The only title he’d ever been proud of to carry. Now, it was just another reminder of his failures. His shame. His only concern had been protecting Dorian, and he’d failed at that. He failed, and now he was going to die for it. “Nothing I didn’t deserve. I’m sure it’s nothing compared to you,” Chaol rasped, his voice hoarse.

“What do you mean?”

He’d snort if he’d had the energy.  _ What do you mean? _ He’d been tortured for he didn’t know how long, and he was too exhausted to relay his experience to the prince next to him. Instead, he focused on the chains locking him to the ground.

He didn’t know how long they’d have to sit there, waiting for their execution. Maybe that was part of it. The waiting. The unknown. There were performers entertaining the court and the crowd before the main event. Like they had been the day Chaol received his, now past, title.

_ The walk over the courtyard felt like one the longest in Chaol’s life. He’d never been particularly fond of being the center of everyone’s attention, and this was no different. But he’d worked for this moment for most of his life. That, and Dorian waiting, together with his father at the dais made it worth it. _

_ After rigorous training and testing Chaol had been awarded the title Captain of the Guard. And, as this was the royal court, there had to be an extravagant ceremony to accompany his promotion. It was worth it, though. He would be able to serve his country the best way he could, and he would do so close to his best friend.  _

_ Asking for anything more than that would be selfish. _

_ The middle of the elevated stage where Chaol was headed was populated by the King and Adarlan’s two princes. Even Dorian’s younger brother had been brought back to Rifthold for this occasion, and Hollin could not have looked more bored. Chaol didn’t blame him. _

_ Dorian, on the other hand, almost looked proud. He had that stoic posture Chaol had always associated with royalty, but there was also warmth in those striking blue eyes. _

_ Chaol recited the oath, but he forgot the words as soon as they left his mouth. He was given a new sword—the Captain’s sword—and a new uniform. The time it took before he was back in his chambers was a haze, the nervousness still holding his breath hostage. Chaol didn’t know why he’d been so nervous—now was when his real work began. He was now responsible for the safety of the royal family, Dorian included. He’d wanted this, he did, but the reality of the position he gained now hit full force. _

_ There was a knock on the door before it opened. There was only one person who’d enter Chaol’s chambers without waiting for a reply, and the sight of his friend entering through the door was what Chaol had waited for the entire day. Gone was the air of regality and the royal disposition the Crown Prince had. Now, Chaol only saw his friend, and he couldn’t be more grateful. _

_ “You did it,” he said, before embracing Chaol in his arms. _

_ “I don’t remember a thing,” Chaol admitted as he rested his chin on Dorian’s shoulder. “How did I do?” _

_ “Perfect,” was all the answer he got. _

_ And it was all he needed. _

The applause brought Chaol back to the present. He hadn’t been paying attention to the spectacle in the middle of the courtyard. Dancers and singers. It was an odd contrast considering what would soon happen here, and the irony was not lost on Chaol. He’d been elevated to the highest position he could strive for in this courtyard and now they were going to push him down to the lowest of them all. 

He’d die a traitor.

He looked to the dais again. Not a hint of compassion in any of the royals’ faces. But Dorian… Dorian was looking at him, through him. Despite the distance, Chaol could see his eyes still shone black, but the prince was looking straight at him. Before the stare had been blank, but Chaol imagined he could see the depth there.

That was when he realized it. The little sign he’d been asking for had been there all along. No one had been to Aedion’s cell, tormenting him. He’d thought the intensity of remembering his happiest of times was a knee-jerk reaction from his body to shield him from the abyss in which Chaol would have otherwise sunk, realizing what he’d done. But maybe… It was a selfish thought, but if there was any chance it could be true Chaol had to take it.

What if the reason the Valg Prince had visited him so many times wasn’t to break  _ Chaol _ . But to break Dorian. Which meant he was still there.

He was fighting.

* * *

He recognized her immediately. Even though her hair was red, a dye or wig he couldn’t tell, it didn’t matter. All he could see was that she was surging for Dorian. He knew that look in her eyes. It was the same as after Nehemia had died. She’d killed him if it weren’t for Dorian. And now, she had her eyes set on the Crown Prince.

No, he’d not come all this way, to finally learn that Dorian was still there, only to have him ripped away again. He knew the weaknesses of the chains binding him to the ground, and in a swift motion he stomped on the closed hook at an angle, effectively breaking the weaker link keeping it in the ground.

He didn’t think, only reacted. He had no idea if he’d even make it to Dorian before someone killed  _ him _ or before Aelin killed  _ Dorian _ , but he didn’t care. He had to try.

The clinging sound of the sword hitting the chain keeping his hands bound together was music to Chaol’s ears.

“What are you doing?” she hissed, pressing down on the chain, but Chaol managed to hold her back. It wouldn’t break. He knew that.

“You’re not killing him,” he said with a surprising certainty to his voice.

Before she had a chance to respond, swords all around them were unsheathed. He’d grown up to that sound, his own sword creating it many times. He had feared the day he’d be the one on the receiving end of it. But now, right here, in front of everyone, fear was not what Chaol felt. 

Dorian was still alive, and if he’d go down defending that life, then he couldn’t ask for anything more. This was what he had always intended. That if the time came, Dorian’s life was more important than his own. It always had been.

Aelin retracted her sword, anger shining from her eyes. He’d seen that anger there before. It had been directed at him then, too.

“It would seem that the new guards need some proper training.” Chaol glanced at his men hanging along the castle walls, dread and guilt once again flowing through his veins. “But at least they’re loyal,” the King said pointedly, and Chaol had to bite back a retort. He needed to focus on the one still living. The one he could still save.

The guards waited for the King’s order, waiting on him giving them the go-ahead to kill both of them on the spot. But instead he said, “Let’s give them a shot. It could be fun. As a birthday gift for you, son,” he said, grabbing Dorian’s shoulder. “Give him your sword,” he instructed one of the guards.

The guard threw it at Chaol’s feet, not even bothering to look at him. “Champion! Try anything and your cousin dies.” Both Aelin and Chaol looked at Aedion, who was now at swordpoint by three guards. “Westfall!  _ You _ try anything and  _ your _ friend dies.”

This was a losing battle. He knew that. He would struggle against Aelin even on a good day. And now he was dehydrated, malnourished, and exhausted. And his hands were still handcuffed. His only hope was to stay alive for as long as possible to convince Aelin to not try to kill Dorian.

“Don’t you need heirs?” Aelin asked, gritting her teeth.

“I have a spare,” was the only answer she got. “You can begin.”

Picking up the sword at his feet, Chaol backed toward the middle of the yard. It was a one-hand sword but he had to use both. Aelin followed. “You ruined everything,” she gritted out. “I didn’t come here to kill you.”

“I don’t care. I cannot let you kill him.”

“Don’t you get it? He’s already dead.”

At that, Chaol mustered all his strength to lift his sword, the pain in his shoulder protesting as he lunged at her. Aelin easily deflected the strike, almost causing him to lose his balance. “Do you even know what that collar does, Chaol? Killing him is a mercy.”

No. He could not accept that. “He’s in there.”

Aelin snorted. “No, he’s not.”

Chaol struck again, but she was ready, simply stepping to the side, sending Chaol to the ground. He took the chance and swiped his feet at her legs, sending her tumbling to the ground as well. But Aelin was too fast. Before Chaol could get the upper hand, she pushed her fingers against his wound in his shoulder, forcing him to his back. The pain surged through him, and Aelin pressed a dagger to his throat.

The crowd seemed disappointed that the fight was over so quickly. 

Her face was merely inches from his. “I love him, too. And I will grant him this mercy, even if it means killing you.”

Love? Is that what she thought it was? How long had they known each other? A couple of months. Chaol had known Dorian his whole life. They’d been there for each other through both hardships and good times. Dorian had been the only one Chaol had ever truly trusted. No. Aelin didn’t love Dorian the way Chaol did.

“Please don’t,” was all he said, his voice breaking. They both knew he wasn’t bargaining for his own life.

“I’m sorry.”

This was it then. This was how he was going to die. He supposed he should be grateful to go down fighting, and not on the execution block. He felt the pressure of the blade increasing, and he tried to prepare himself for the unknown feeling of getting his throat slit.

He felt nothing.

The weight on his chest disappeared. The press of the knife… gone. 

Shock and murmurs from the audience filled his ears. Aelin was a couple of feet away from him, recovering from what looked like a punch to the gut.  _ What happened? _

Following the looks from the people in the crowd, his eyes went to the dais, where Dorian was now standing up, his hands in front of him, gesturing to Aelin. Had he…? Again?

He lifted his eyes to meet Dorian’s, and that’s when he saw it. They weren’t black anymore.

Dorian shifted his focus from Aelin to Chaol.

And removed the collar.

The relief surging through Chaol was indescribable. Dorian had somehow beat the Valg prince inside him, and saved him once again. Everything he’d done had not been in vain, and Chaol finally allowed his body to relax, the tension leaving his mind and limbs.

Dorian approached him, and all senses left Chaol, one by one. He couldn’t hear. Couldn’t see. But before he let rest claim him, he felt a warm hand in his. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you enjoy this story please leave me a nice comment <3


	4. Judgment day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspiration has struck during this pandemic and I'm taking advantage. Here's the next chapter. I hope you enjoy!

** _Dorian_ **

Dorian Havilliard could count on one hand the number of times he’d been afraid.  _ Really _ afraid. Two of those times had involved Chaol and Aelin. Both times Aelin had tried to kill Chaol and both times Dorian had been so terrified that he couldn’t control the magic escaping from his fingers and stopping her.

He couldn’t even fathom it. A world where Chaol didn’t exist. Then, for the first time in his life, he’d feel lonely. He would never be alone—he’d always been surrounded by people, but it was always Chaol’s company he craved. So when the Valg showed him what Aelin was about to do, he’d finally broken through its defenses.

And now he was sitting in an uncomfortable chair, waiting for Chaol, the sole reason he had found the strength, to wake up. The Valg had let him hear what Chaol and Aelin had said to each other during their encounter, a cruel punishment. And it was Chaol’s determination, his belief in Dorian that had given Dorian the power. Even in his dying breath, Chaol had tried to protect him. So when he’d understood that Aelin was actually going to kill him he… He didn’t know what went through his mind. All he knew was that he couldn’t let Chaol die thinking he hadn’t mattered. Because he did. Probably more than he’d realized. 

More than  _ Dorian _ had realized.

A soft knock on the door broke him from his thoughts.

“Come in,” he said, his voice hoarse.

The door opened slightly, and Aelin’s head peeked through the small opening. “Can I come in?”

Dorian just nodded, not knowing how to conduct himself in his new position. She entered and seated herself in a chair next to the bed, taking Chaol’s hand. “How is he?” she asked, not taking her eyes off Chaol.

“Physically, he’s fine. The healers tended to the wound in his shoulder and… And the rest.” He couldn’t bring himself to discuss the other injuries. The ones that  _ he _ had inflicted. “He’s just not waking up. They said to be patient, but...” But sitting here, completely unable to do anything was killing him slowly.

“He’s a fighter. He’ll pull through.”

Dorian didn’t answer, and they fell into silence. It wasn’t comfortable, but Dorian didn’t know what to say either. They had a lot to talk about but now wasn’t the time.  _ Chaol _ deserved his undivided attention. After a couple of minutes Aelin continued, “Dorian, I… What I did, I… I wanted to protect you. I know what the Valg princes do and… I wanted to spare you that.”

“I know.” He understood. Oh, he did, because being in the grip of that thing was worse than anything he could have imagined. And he believed Aelin’s intentions were pure. He truly did. But at the same time… “But you were wrong. As horrible as it was, I didn’t…” He couldn’t bring himself to say the words. He knew it was selfish and he was ashamed of himself, but he didn’t want to die. Even though he probably should. Instead, he said, “Killing can’t be the answer.”

Aelin seemed to ponder what he’d said, focusing on Chaol again. “You can’t change the world without getting your hands dirty,” she whispered, probably more to herself than to Dorian.

“That’s… ” He didn’t know how to reply to that. Of course he knew wars took lives. But still... “It can’t be the first response. You try to mediate—”

“And then? When that doesn’t work?” She released Chaol’s hand in favor of fixing her glare at Dorian, as if daring him to answer.

“You try again. Again and again. Anything to prevent a war.”

A subtle knock on the door interrupted their staring contest, and the head of one of the healers peeked through the small opening. “Apologies, your Majesty.” She lowered her gaze to the floor. “But lord Westfall requires peace and quiet while he recovers.”

“His name is  _ Chaol _ ,” Dorian answered, lowering his voice he hadn’t realized he’d raised. Chaol had never wanted the title of Lord, and Dorian would be damned if they insisted on calling him that.

“Of course,” she simply said, closing the door on her way out.

She did have a point, though. “This is not a discussion we need to have right now.” As King he knew he couldn’t drop everything, even though he very much wanted to, but this was something he  _ could _ postpone.

“You’re right,” Aelin said, taking Chaol’s hand again and stroking it with her thumb. 

At this, Dorian couldn’t stop the anger surging through his veins.  _ Not long ago, you had no qualms about killing him, and now…  _ Dorian managed to keep his emotions bottled, held his head high and said, “When we have matters to discuss I’ll send word for you. As Queen of Terrasen, you and your court are welcomed guests here.”

Aelin understood his words, her eyes turning cold as she let go of Chaol. “Of course, your  _ Majesty. _ If all goes well, you will not have to host us for much longer.”

Dorian caught the tone of her words, even if he didn’t quite understand what she meant. They were allies after all. Right? But losing his temper now would not do anyone any good, least of all Chaol. With a couple of whispered words to Chaol’s ear, Aelin left the room without acknowledging Dorian.

Dorian only went to the other side of the bed, taking Chaol’s hand in his and bringing it to his lips. “You need to wake up,” he whispered. “I have no idea what I’m doing. You have to tell me what to do.” He pressed his forehead to Chaol’s hand. “Please. If not for me, then for your people. For Adarlan. For Rifthold.”

He knew he was playing dirty, using Chaol’s loyalty against him. But he didn’t know what else to do.

For the next hours no one bothered Dorian, not until a servant knocked on the door, telling him his old chambers had been prepared for the night. “Thank you. But I’d prefer to stay here tonight.”

“Of course, your Majesty. I’ll have a bed set up for you.”

“No need.” He doubted he’d be getting any sleep anyway. “I won’t be needing anything else tonight, thank you.”

He would not have anyone else disturbing them tonight. He needed this. Needed this time alone with Chaol. The servant simply nodded and closed the door, leaving Dorian and Chaol alone again. 

How long he spent sitting there, willing his friend to wake up, before his eyes started to droop he didn’t know. Without hesitating, Dorian simply climbed into the bed and rested his head on Chaol’s uninjured shoulder. His nose nuzzled against Chaol’s neck, the steady beat of his pulse warming Dorian. And for the first time since the collar was locked around his neck, Dorian relaxed.

* * *

It was the best sleep he’d had in weeks. Part of it was the physical exhaustion, of course. Finally getting rid of the demon possessing his body took its rightful toll on him. But another part of it, at least that’s what he imagined, had to with Chaol. He was here, and his presence meant everything to Dorian. His head was still resting on Chaol’s shoulder—neither one of them had moved during the night.

Lifting his head, Dorian took Chaol in, reminding himself that he was actually here. It hadn’t been a dream. They were both here. Safe. If he only could wake up.

“You’ve always been the early bird.” It was true. Chaol usually worked out before he came to Dorian’s chambers to collect him for their morning exercise. “Don’t think I’m letting you off the hook just because you saved my life.” 

He could imagine Chaol’s chuckle at his poor attempt at humor, and he could feel a smile forming on his lips. A smile that faded when Chaol made no sign of hearing him. The healers had told him to give him time, but for every minute that passed with Chaol unconscious Dorian’s worry only grew. He tried to trust the healers and to think rationally, like he usually did. But honestly, Chaol had always tilted his world.

Another day passed. Another day with his best friend passed out. Dorian pressed Chaol’s hand to his lips, locking their fingers in a tight embrace. “Wake up,” he whispered. “What’s the point of finally having you here if you’re not awake? What’s the point of anything?”

He knew he had responsibilities—he just couldn’t find it in himself to care. If Chaol wasn’t with him—

“Your Majesty?” 

“What?” Dorian replied without looking away from Chaol.

“The small council requests your presence.”

_ And what if I refuse? _ It was at the tip of Dorian’s tongue, but he couldn’t help but imagine Chaol’s scolding if he actually  _ did _ . Chaol’s sense of loyalty and honor had always been an inspiration and he wouldn’t—couldn’t—let him down now.  _ Especially _ now. “I’ll be right there,” was all Dorian said.

Dorian let himself be escorted to the council room he’d been in so many times. Mostly he’d only been observing, but today he’d be at the head of the table. He felt out of place, an imposter. He was a fraud, pretending to hold some sort of knowledge of power.

A couple of men and women he’d never seen in his life rose from their seats when Dorian arrived. In the chaos that followed Aelin and Chaol’s fight, many of the leading court members had been killed, including his father. Before Dorian had resigned to watch over Chaol, he’d made sure to appoint a few people to investigate exactly what happened and who was to blame.

“Your Majesty,” one of them began. “A few of us took it upon ourselves to form a small council in wait of your return. We stand at your disposal.” 

Dorian was impressed by their initiative, but it also served as a horrible reminder of his own lack of leadership, something this country sorely needed, especially now.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Cassius, your Majesty.” He raised his eyes, looking directly at Dorian. “I’m aware you don’t know most of us, your Majesty. If you’d allow, let me make introductions.”

Dorian nodded, and Cassius told him everyone’s name and temporary rank, but he didn’t quite listen until he heard the man say, “...Captain of the Guard.”

“What?”

“Nesryn Faliq, Captain of the Royal Guard. She’s responsible for the safety of the royal fa—”

“I know what the title entails,” Dorian interrupted. Cassius didn’t say anything as Dorian eyed Nesryn.

He didn’t know how long they stared at each other until she eventually spoke. “How is he?” The concern in her voice, Dorian couldn’t imagine it was fake. Why would it be?

He struggled to keep his tears at bay. There were several traits a king was expected to harbor—weakness was not one of them. “He’s resting,” he responded in the most stoic voice he could muster. At his words, her body seemed to relax. Did she know Chaol? He really couldn’t bring himself to care. 

“Was there anything else that couldn’t wait until another day?” Dorian was aware of how petulant he sounded but there must have been some other reason for calling this meeting.

Cassius hesitated.

“I don’t know what type of ruler you think my father was, or who I am, but I do expect you to speak your mind.”

“Well, your Majesty,” Cassius said carefully. “We have contained the man who murdered the late King.”

Dorian froze. He wasn’t aware of what exactly had happened after he managed to get the collar off. All he saw was Chaol. On the ground. Bleeding. Turning the ground of the castle yard red. All he could think about was getting to him. That was all that had mattered.

He knew his father was dead, but he didn’t know the details, let alone who’d done it. The only thing he knew was that after he had removed the collar, the tower had collapsed and chaos had erupted. Screams. People trying to get to safety. And in the midst of the mayhem, someone had decapitated the king.

“Who is it?”

“He wouldn’t give his name, but… He’s fae. Says he wants to talk to his queen.”

“Who?”

“The Queen of Terrassen.”

What? _ Aelin? _

“Your Majesty, do you wish us to summon the Queen?”

“Yes!” This must be a mistake. This fae must have gone rogue. There was no way this could be Aelin’s doing. He knew she was capable of many things, but killing a king? He didn’t say anything more until the guards returned with Aelin. She did not look pleased.

Before Dorian had a chance to say or do anything she said, “He acted on my orders.” She knew.  _ She knew. _

Aelin. Aelin? Had she ordered the assassination of his father? He could not believe it.

Before Dorian could respond, Cassius jumped in. “Are you saying that you, as the leader of Terrasen, carried out an assassination on a foreign leader?”

“Yes,” she answered without hesitation. Dorian couldn’t speak, couldn’t think.

“Are you aware that’s an act of war?”

“I don’t care!” she snapped. “He needed to be stopped, and I did Adarlan a favor, relieving it from his terror. And I’d do it to any territory suffering under similar leaders.” Aelin’s gaze shifted from Cassius to Dorian. “Release Rowan. Let us go home.”

He knew that breaking the chains of his father’s stronghold of this country did not come without making sacrifices. But this… This was not one of them. It was not her decision to make. “No,” Dorian whispered.

This time, it was Aelin who stood dumbfounded. “What?”

“No. We can’t just bend the rules as we please, claiming we somehow have the moral high ground. That’s what  _ tyrants _ do. Claiming themselves to be above the law. Isn’t that what we’re fighting against? How can we expect the people to trust us if we can’t trust each other?”

He was aware he sounded like he was reciting a textbook, but it didn’t make him wrong. He believed that with every bone in his body.

Aelin’s face fell as he spoke, but he paid no heed to it. Dorian had always admired Chaol for his honor and loyalty, and those were the qualities he wanted to permeate his leadership, no matter if or when Chaol recovered. He continued, “He will be able to plead his case and defend himself in a fair trial. You have my word. But in light of what you just told me I cannot recognize Terassen as an ally. Your invitation is therefore rescinded, and you’re expected to leave the royal ground immediately, tomorrow at the latest.”

“Dorian...”

“I’m doing this as a favor to you. Press me, and I  _ will _ see it as an act of war.”

Aelin didn’t press her luck, only turned on her heels and left the room. Dorian almost expected the door to slam behind her, but it was the guards who opened and closed it.

Turning to the council, he gave them permission to handle the small things until his coronation. Coronation. He would be King. Something he’d trained for his whole life, but still felt unprepared for. He didn’t know how he would manage it. But right now, he didn’t even care, because he just dismissed a person he once held dear and Chaol was still not awake. He turned his head toward the  _ Captain. _ He knew she was probably qualified for the job and he knew he was petty, but he couldn’t stop himself from saying, “Don’t get used to the title.”

She didn’t even blink at his words, and he demonstratively rose, scraping the chair along the floor as he did so. The coronation didn’t usually take more than ten days after the king had died. It had been two since his father had passed. “Can you arrange for the ceremony in seven days from now, Cassius.”

“Of course.”

“Good. Anything else until then I trust this council to take care of. Until my coronation I’d wish to remain in solitude. So, unless it’s urgent I do not wish to be disturbed.” Cassius looked at him, nodding. “Also, make sure if this Rowan really is the assassin, and prepare for a trial.”

The walk back to the chambers was quiet, his breathing and the footsteps of the guards following him the only sounds. The door to Chaol’s room was closed as he got there, a healer opening it at his knock.

“Your Majesty,” she said, bowing. He thought he could detect a hint of a smile on her lips, and when he entered the room he understood why. Chaol’s brown eyes greeted him. Dorian’s heart fluttered as everything around them vanished, everything that existed was him and Chaol.

“You’re awake,” he choked out. It was nowhere near enough of what Chaol deserved as a greeting but it was the only words Dorian could form.

He didn’t know how, but before he knew it he’d moved next to Chaol, clutching his hand and begging for forgiveness. “I’m so sorry for what I did. I...” Words failed him. There was nothing he could say to make this better. But this wasn’t about Dorian. Chaol was awake, he was going to be fine and that was so much more than Dorian could ever hope to dream of.

Chaol’s fingers trailed Dorian’s throat, taking in the bruises left by the collar.

“It’s not...” Chaol croaked. “I’m sorry I failed you.”

Dorian took Chaol’s hand and pressed it to his forehead. “You never failed me, Chaol.” How could he? He had always done what was right. It was Dorian who was the weaker of the two. Letting go of Chaol’s hand, he pushed their foreheads together. “You never failed me,” he repeated, whispering, his fingers trailing Chaol’s cheeks.

Chaol scrunched his eyes together, as if blinking away tears. Dorian doubted that Chaol would ever forgive him for what he’d done, for being such a vital part in his torture. It wasn’t by his own will, but by his hands.  _ His _ hands. It was  _ his _ hands who had pressed Chaol’s neck against the dirty wall of his cell, choking him, watching the life seeping out of him and then releasing him right before he passed out just to do it all over again. It was  _ his _ fingers who were shoved into the open wound of the arrow he had taken for Dorian. The arrow he had sent there, because he wasn’t strong enough to deflect it completely. Chaol was lying here because of  _ him _ . Because of  _ his _ weakness, and incapability to take control. Of his magic and of his life. 

But now, he didn’t care. If Chaol never wanted to see him again, Dorian had to accept that. He was so relieved that Chaol would be able to even make that choice at all.

He gripped Chaol’s hand again, averting his gaze. He didn’t deserve it. Not after what he had done. “Please… ” he started, but choked on his words. “Please don’t hate me.”

“Dorian,” Chaol whispered. “Get up.” He didn’t want to. He couldn’t look at Chaol, seeing all the pain he had inflicted. “Get up.” Chaol’s voice was stern, much more steady than Dorian would’ve thought for someone who’d been unconscious for so long.

So he did. Dorian rose to his feet, forcing himself to face Chaol. Face all his sins. But there was no judgment in Chaol’s eyes. “It’s you,” he said, letting out a sob.

Instinctively, Dorian dropped to his knees again and pulled Chaol into his arms, making sure he didn’t hurt his injured shoulder.. “Yeah,” he breathed, hugging Chaol tighter. “It’s me.” Dorian didn’t know how to sort through everything he was feeling in this moment. Fear, relief, anger, hope. He felt everything and nothing. But no matter what happened after this, Chaol had to know. Even if he never forgave Dorian or never wanted to see him again he had to know. So Dorian buried his face in Chaol’s neck, blinked his tears away and whispered, “I love you.”

Chaol was silent, but his arms looped around Dorian’s shoulders, pulling him closer. Dorian didn’t know how long they sat like that, clinging to each other, before Chaol spoke. “Was it you?”

_ Me, what? _ Was he the one who had pushed his fingers into his best friend’s still healing wound? Jammed a knife in his thigh? Laughed when he screamed from the pain? Yes, it had been him. But before Dorian could speak, Chaol continued. “Did you show me…?” Chaol inhaled, as if gathering strength. “When we were… When you were…” He gestured with his hands between them as if not being able to say the words, but Dorian understood.

The Valg had been able to control his movements, but Dorian had fought hard to keep his mind clear. The time spent in the dungeons with Chaol had been excruciating, but instead of blocking it out he had tried to keep the pain in Chaol’s eyes at bay. He didn’t know if it worked or not, but every time he was there, he had done his best to get Chaol to focus on anything but the pain. So he’d honed in on all the magic he could muster, focused on the best times of his life, and tried to send that to Chaol. The fact that he seemed to have been able to pick up on it was a small comfort for Dorian. Small, but still there. “What did you see?” he whispered, releasing Chaol from his embrace.

“You.” Chaol swallowed. There seemed to be more that Chaol wanted to say, but he didn’t continue. Dorian locked his arms around his best friend again.

“I’m so sorry,” he sobbed, burying his nose in Chaol’s good shoulder.

“It wasn’t your fault. I’m the one… I’m the one who didn’t… I had one job, and I didn’t do it. I—”

“Don’t,” Dorian interrupted. He knew that Chaol would put all of this on himself. “Can we… Can we talk about something else.”

Chaol leaned back against the pillows, taking in the room. Then horror filled his features. “What am I doing here? This is the King’s chamber. I can’t—”

“I know. And yes you can.” Dorian realized that Chaol had no idea what had happened after his and Aelin’s fight. “I don’t know exactly how everything went down, but after I took off the collar, all hell broke loose. Someone killed my father.” Dorian told him about the small council but didn’t relay the information about what he’d learn about Aelin. Chaol would find out soon enough but right now he needed to focus on his recovery.

“Which members are on the small council?”

“I don’t remember. I only remember Cassius.” And Nesryn Faliq. “I’ll get a list.”

“Okay. As long as you have a Master of Treasure, a King’s Hand… and a Captain of the Guard.”

“Well, that’s you.”

“Dorian, look at me. I can’t—I can’t protect anyone. My men… My men are dead. I’m not fit to be Captain.” 

Dorian couldn’t imagine anyone but Chaol holding the title of Captain. There wasn’t anyone who was more deserving or better equipped for it. But Chaol wouldn’t believe him even if he told him.

“Can you help me?” Dorian whispered. “I feel like I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know how to rule. I’m not ready.”

“Dorian. You’ve been training for this your entire life. No one can do this better than you.”

“I don’t know. I don’t even know who half of these people are,” Dorian admitted, only now realizing he should’ve paid much more attention at the council meeting. If not for himself then for this country he was supposedly the leader of.

The clock on the wall chimed, and Chaol’s eyes flitted to it. “How long have I been here?”

“A couple of days.”

“Where have you been sleeping?”

“There.” Dorian pointed to the short sofa by the window.

In an instant, Chaol tried to raise himself, leaning on one of his elbows. “We’ll switch.”

“No.”

“You’re the  _ King _ ,” Chaol argued.

“And you’re injured.”

“But—”

“It’s non-negotiable.” Dorian’s voice was firmer than he’d aimed for. If Chaol relented or just didn’t have the energy to argue, Dorian didn’t know, but they fell into silence after that.

When Dorian had used all of his energy in an effort to release Chaol of the pain he had endured, he’d felt the love there. It was not brotherly love. It was something else. Something  _ more _ . And when Chaol admitted to having picked up on it Dorian had realized that it wasn’t only his own emotions he felt, but Chaol’s as well. Chaol would never act upon them. Dorian knew that. He was too loyal and would never put Dorian on the spot like that, afraid of disturbing the equilibrium or ruining their friendship. If anything were to happen, it would have to be Dorian who initiated it. But now was not the time. Chaol needed rest. To heal from his wounds, at least the physical ones. They’d work on the other ones later.

After a moment he realized neither of them had said anything in a while. Dorian caught Chaol’s eyes. “It  _ is _ a pretty large bed,” he said tentatively, hoping Chaol would understand his intentions. He eyed Dorian, squinting, as if trying to solve a puzzle.

Then the crinkles around his eyes vanished and his facial features relaxed. “Okay.” With some effort, Chaol moved to the side of the bed, and Dorian curled in under the cover next to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like this story please consider dropping me a line, here or tumblr (maxwellandlovelace), to let me know I'm doing something right. Thank you for reading! <3


	5. Ascension day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm a little nervous about this chapter, so please be gentle with me. It came out a little longer than I had originally planned, but I hope you don't mind :)

** _Dorian_ **

The week preceding his coronation was a blur to Dorian. He spent the days in discussions with the small council, trying to figure out how the country would move past the rule of his father. Up until now, the King had had ultimate power, and that was not the type of country that Dorian wanted to lead, but tradition was rooted deep. In the end they had managed to outline a new law which gave the small council the power to veto the king if they all agreed. It wasn’t perfect but change took time, Dorian knew that.

He spent his nights together with Chaol in his chambers. After their first night together they hadn’t discussed it further, but Dorian didn’t want to spend them anywhere else. Chaol didn’t object either.

“How was your day?” Dorian asked as he entered his chambers.

Chaol looked up from the bed and gave him a look that said everything. He was sick of being confined to a bed all day. The boredom, the guilt, the anxiousness. These were the things Dorian knew occupied Chaol’s thoughts when he was here alone, maybe even to some extent when he wasn’t. If Dorian could do anything to make it easier for Chaol, he would. But he didn’t know how, so instead he went for distraction. “I got word back from the investigation about the assassinaion.” Dorian had relayed everything he knew about what had happened.

“What’s the verdict?” Chaol asked, propping himself up on his elbows.

“As expected. Aelin already confessed and Rowan Whitethorn confirms it. There is no indication this was anything other than what they both say it was.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not that I don’t understand their motive, even if I don’t agree with the method.” Not to mention Chaol had almost paid the ultimate price for it too. “I don’t know what to do. Killing the regent carries the death penalty, but executing Rowan would most definitely send us to war with Terassen.” It would also make Dorian a hypocrite, after his ranting speech to Aelin about avoiding killing and war.

“Is there no other way?”

“Even if there was, the court would riot if I released him. They want someone to pay for murdering the king. They want blood.”

Chaol snorted. “Haven’t they seen enough of that?”

“Guess not.” Dorian sighed as he removed his outer shirt, leaving him in a loose-fitting tunic and undergarments. “The coronation is in two days. I don’t want my first order of business to be a trial that ends in an execution.”

Chaol slipped to the side of the bed, leaving room for Dorian. “Then it won’t. You’ll figure it out.” 

That unwavering support and confidence that Chaol had in Dorian made him want to close the distance between them and press their lips together. The thought alone sent a tingling sensation to Dorian’s stomach and it felt like his heart skipped a beat. His gaze lowered to Chaol’s lips and he could almost taste them in his mouth. No, this wasn’t fair to Chaol. On top of everything else he shouldn’t have to deal with Dorian’s feelings too. So he pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind and, again, went for the distraction. He could try to tell himself it was for Chaol’s benefit, but Dorian needed it just as much. “Speaking of the coronation. You’ll be there?”

“I’m not Captain nor a lord. I don’t know where I would fit in?”

_ Next to me. _ That was what Dorian wanted, but he couldn’t share it. At least not yet. But he would not have Chaol relegated to these chambers on one of the most important days of his life. “I want you there. Isn’t that enough?”

Chaol’s mouth fell slightly open, but he remained silent. He took a breath, inhaling and exhaling. It was an eternity before he spoke. “It is.”

“Good.” Dorian pulled the cover up to his chin as he laid down, facing Chaol. “I don’t care what the healers say. Tomorrow, we’re having breakfast together in the dining hall.” The only times Chaol had left this room had been visits to the healers.

“You think that’s a good idea? You know they don’t want me leaving this bed more than I have to.”

Dorian moved his hand to the side of Chaol’s face, the thumb stroking his cheek. “I know you’re miserable here.”

“I’m not m—”

“You need to see something other than these walls. How are you supposed to heal when your mind is not in it?”

Chaol closed his eyes, and it felt like he was leaning into Dorian’s touch. “Okay. Thank you, Dorian.”

He imagined it was his touch that made Chaol fall asleep so quickly, and before long sleep claimed Dorian as well.

* * *

The swift movement woke him up. Legs tangled in his jerked as Chaol let out a sob of pain. Instinctively, Dorian grabbed Chaol’s arms, careful not to touch the wound in his shoulder. “Chaol,” he whispered, not wanting to scare him. “Chaol,” he repeated when he showed no sign of hearing. 

Chaol’s eyes flew open. His mouth tense. The rapid beat of his heart pulsing in his neck. Dorian knew exactly what he was looking at. Fear. 

The realization almost threw Dorian backward. Never in his life had Chaol looked at him in fear. And the fact that he was the one who had put it there killed Dorian. But he had to hold it together for Chaol. “You’re safe,” he tried to soothe. “I’m here. It’s me. Really me,” he said in the most comforting voice he could find, but it felt weak. The tension in Chaol’s arms disappeared as he slumped back in the bed.

Chaol reached for Dorian’s face, trailing his cheek and down his neck. A casual gesture he’d never done before, but felt so very natural all the same. “It’s you,” Chaol said, his voice horse, and his hard muscles softened.

“Yes,” Dorian answered, releasing the breath he’d been holding. He cradled Chaol’s face with both of his hands. “Yes. I’ll always be here for you,” he said without thinking. Settling back on his pillow next to Chaol, Dorian felt himself relax as well. In his half asleep state he reached for Chaol, brushing his lips against his cheek.  _ I’ll never leave you again. _

Despite the overwhelming joy of having Chaol back with him, Dorian couldn’t help but worry that they would ever get past this. Chaol had been dreaming about Dorian torturing him—it was obvious from the complete terror in his eyes when he woke up and saw Dorian’s face. Even if Chaol forgave him, how would he be able to associate Dorian with anything other than pain?

* * *

The knock on the door woke Dorian up but Chaol seemed to already be awake. It was a good sign Dorian decided. He didn’t know if Chaol had felt the gentle kiss from the night before, but if he did, he didn’t say anything about it in the morning. He didn’t mention him waking up and looking at Dorian in fear either, and Dorian didn’t feel the need to bring it up.

The servant made no acknowledgement of Dorian and Chaol sleeping in the same bed.

“Your Majesty,” he said, looking down. “Your breakfast is ready.”

“Okay, thank you,” Dorain answered, sleep evident in his voice. Non-befitting of a King.

“Thank you, your Majesty,” he said simply and left the room, closing the door quietly.

“You hungry?” Dorian asked Chaol.

“Starving,” was the one-word reply, but Dorian noticed the sleepy smile on Chaol’s lips.

“How was your sleep?”

“The best,” Chaol said, and a warmth spread throughout Dorian’s body.

Chaol couldn’t support his left leg due to the knife wound there. Dorian had one of the servants bring a crutch, and as much as Dorian knew Chaol hated it, he still accepted it. Dorian walked a little slower than usual, making sure that he and Chaol could keep even steps. When he was not in bed, his arm had to be in a sling and Dorian placed a hand gently on that shoulder as they walked, for his or Chaol’s support he didn’t really know.

“Dorian.” Chaol broke the silence between them. “I’m sorry about your father.”

“Thanks,” was all Dorian said, because he couldn’t express what it meant to him. Yes, he was a terrible man, but he was still Dorian’s father, and losing him was more difficult than he could have imagined. He was not as sure in his decisions as his father was in his, and Dorian wished he’d inherited a little more of that. It wasn’t easy, trying to change the rule of Adarlan, but it would have been easier if he’d been more confident in all of his decisions. Chaol had effectively lost all of his family when he swore his loyalty to the crown, much to his father’s dismay. He’d given up his lordship of Anielle, and his father resented him for it, disowned him. Chaol knew what he was talking about, losing a parent. Even if that parent was a terrible one.

When reaching the dining hall, Dorian realized he hadn’t eaten there since his father died. In his chambers, together with Chaol, were the only times he’d had proper meals. Everyone rose as they arrived. Dorian felt exposed, everyone watching them. Judging.

Even as they all sat down, returning to their meals Dorian still felt their eyes in him.

“They always look at you,” Chaol assured him. “You just haven’t noticed.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Chaol whispered. “Better get used to it,” he said, sitting down at a vacant seat.

“I haven’t been here since...” He didn’t finish the sentence. Chaol understood.

“Where did you eat before?”

At that, Dorian felt a heat spread over his cheeks, hot flashes along his scalp. “Uhm… With you.”

“Oh.” A light blush colored Chaol’s cheeks, and Dorian found himself wanting to press his lips to those cheeks, reveling in the warmth he knew would meet him. But this was not the time or place.

“I thought you said you were hungry,” Dorian said, wondering why Chaol hadn’t even touched anything from the buffet. He realized his mistake before Chaol cast a meaningful look at his crutch and sling. “Sorry. What do you want? I’ll get it for you.”

“You can’t do that.”

“Of course I can,” Dorian countered, challenging Chaol’s firm voice. For Dorian it was a pitiful gesture considering the wounds he had given Chaol. “Let me do this. Please.” And as if Chaol could read his thoughts, he nodded. ”What do you want?”

“Whole wheat bread, and a cup of coffee.”

There were tables of delicious offerings, but Chaol went for the healthy choice. “Fine. Be boring.” Dorian tried to lighten the mood, and he thought he could see a smile tugging at Chaol’s lips. It was the only glimpse of joy he would get before nightfall.

He came back to their chambers in the evening.

“What’s wrong?” Chaol asked from his bed, leaning on his elbows, his sling now removed. He was still too injured to do anything other than rest. The walk to the dining hall took its toll on him, and even if he didn’t want to admit it, Dorian knew Chaol was exhausted. He also knew his physical health was a sensitive subject for Chaol, so instead Dorian told him about what had been weighing him down.

“I’m not cut out for this. All these men and women I talk to seem more qualified than I am to lead this country. They seem to know everything, while I know  _ nothing. _ ”

“You can’t know everything, Dorian. That’s why you have them. They know more about their respective fields and advise you. But the decision is ultimately yours.”

“But why?!” Dorian erupted. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Dorian, being a leader isn’t only about always knowing what to do. It’s about making decisions based on the facts that you  _ do _ have. If it was my call, I’d choose you for that.”

The fact that Chaol held him in such high regards baffled Dorian. Only days ago he had endured torture by Dorian’s hands, and, here he was, singing his praises. Dorian didn’t know what to do with that. “That’s because I’m your friend.”

“Exactly. I know you, and I know what kind of leader you’d be. You  _ will _ be.”

Dorian didn’t know how to respond to that. Chaol’s support meant everything to him. “Have you eaten today?

“Yes,” Chaol answered dutifully. “After our breakfast I had lunch  _ and _ dinner.”

“Good,” Dorian said. “I want you on your feet as soon as possible. I want you by my side.”

“You do?” Chaol asked, confusion in his eyes. Dorian hadn’t realized how that had sounded, but he couldn’t find it in him to regret it.

“Yeah.”  _ I love you. _ It was at the tip of his tongue, but he held back. “You know these people better than I do. You should—I need you to...” Dorian couldn’t finish the sentence.

“Okay. I’ll help you. Whatever you need.”

“Chaol,” Dorian said, exhaling. ”I don’t need you to  _ help _ me.”

“Okay? Whatever you want me to do, I’ll do it,” Chaol said, seemingly mistaking Dorian’s intent.

“No, that’s not what I meant. I want—I need you next to me.”

“I’ve always been beside you, Dorian. You know that.” The confusion was obvious in Chaol’s voice and Dorian realized he had to tell him. He had tried so damn hard, but he couldn’t hold it back any longer.

“No. Not like that. By my side. For real.” Dorain couldn’t believe he was about to say this. To reveal his feelings while Chaol still recovered. But he couldn’t stop it. “I meant what I said. It wasn’t only because I was relieved to see you. Or because you’re my best friend. It’s something else. Something  _ more. _ ” He took a breath, sliding over the covers to cradle Chaol’s face in his hands. “I love you. I  _ love _ you.”

Chaol eyes widened. “Are you saying…?” 

Their mouths were so close they could breathe each other’s air. Dorian’s heartbeat thumped in his head and his pulse throbbed in his neck. His thumb stroked Chaol’s cheek—it was warm and soft to the touch. For once in his life everything made sense. This was always going to happen. “Yes.”

Slowly, tentatively, Dorian pressed lips to Chaol’s. It was just a small peck but the impact of it was enormous. There was no going back after this. Chaol pulled his head back slightly and sighed. The silence lasted a couple of seconds, but to Dorian, it was years. Finally, cupping Dorian’s cheeks in his hands, he said, “Are you sure? I need you to say you’re sure.”

Dorian didn’t have to think about it. “I’m sure,” he said. With that, Chaol pulled Dorian to his face and pressed their mouths together. After a couple of seconds of their lips chasing each other Dorian couldn’t take it anymore. He gently pressed on Chaol’s good shoulder, urging him to lie back, and pushed his tongue into Chaol’s mouth, hoping he would accept it. And oh-he did. He locked his firm arms around Dorian’s neck, pulling their chests close together.

A dream. It was the only way to describe what he was feeling right now. Chaol’s hard body beneath him. Wanting him. His hands fumbled in Chaol’s dark hair, grabbing it and sifting his fingers through it. Wandered over his arms to his fingers. When they both had to come up for air Dorian immediately went for Chaol’s throat, kissing and sucking the skin in his clavicle. At that, Chaol let out a quiet moan and that did it for Dorian. He couldn’t keep his hips from pushing against Chaol’s, letting him know exactly how sure he was.

“Oh,” Chaol grunted. “Dorian,” he panted. “I can’t.” Dorian immediately pulled back.

“What do you mean?” Dorian asked, breathing against Chaol’s skin.

“I can’t. I mean… I  _ want _ to. But I can’t.” And just like that Dorian understood. Despite making so much progress, with the aid of the healers, Chaol was still injured, and Dorian was ashamed for having forgotten it so easily.

“It’s okay,” Dorian said, lowering his mouth to Chaol’s. “I’m fine with kissing you, if you’re up for that.”

“I’m definitely up for that,” Chaol said, pushing their lips together again. Dorian couldn’t believe that this was his life. Kissing Chaol was something he hadn’t prepared for. He only wished that he’d realized sooner that this was what he’d wanted all along, that Chaol was not only his best friend, but also his soulmate, his brother in arms, his equal, his partner.

When their lips were raw from kisses Dorian said, “This will happen. You and me.” Chaol only nodded in agreement. They would be able to enjoy each other even more as Chaol healed, as they  _ both _ healed.

They fell asleep like that, wrapped in each other’s arms. Chaol woke Dorian up in the middle of the night again, crying of pain. Dorian tried his best to calm him down the only way he could. “I’m here. You’re safe,” were the words he whispered in Chaol’s ear. He didn’t seem to notice, but fell back asleep.

Dorian woke up to a wet sensation on the side of his face. It was Chaol’s lips, trailing kisses on his cheek. “Good morning,” he whispered as he continued to kiss Dorian. Yesterday, he’d been so careful, but now, Chaol was taking charge. And Dorian was not complaining.

“It is,” Dorian said as he revelled in Chaol’s kisses. 

Chaol’s tongue trailed down his neck, his chest, his nipples. “Is this alright?”

“Oh, yes,” Dorian said, relishing Chaol’s touch. “Whatever you want to do...”

Chaol started to trail his lips down Dorian’s body, and Dorian couldn’t stop his fingers from grabbing Chaol’s hair. It was longer than he usually kept it, but Dorian certainly didn’t mind. He needed more, and took a firmer grip, pulling Chaol to his face again. Normally, Chaol was stronger than Dorian, but even if he had been making progress, he was still a far cry from his former glory. Dorian would have no problem besting Chaol in his current stare. Their noses were merely an inch apart. It would be so easy, pulling Chaol down for another kiss, but it wasn’t what Dorian needed. Instead, he easily flipped them over, pinning Chaol beneath him. Chaol made a sound of discomfort at the sudden weight on his body, but Dorian paid it no mind.

Releasing Chaol’s hair, Dorian took hold of Chaol’s wrists, securing them above his head with one hand. Chaol didn't resist. He couldn’t, Dorian knew that. He reached for the drawer next to the bed, and when he felt the cool metal he couldn’t stop the smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Dorian,” Chaol croaked, a question in his eyes. “What are you doing?”

“Something I should have done a long time ago.” It was true—this was long overdue.

“Can you… Can you let go of my hands?” Chaol was now squirming beneath him, but his desperation only spurred Dorian on.

He locked in on Chaol’s eyes, and seeing the fear there was all Dorian needed to take the knife from the drawer. Pressing it to Chaol’s throat he answered. “No.”

“Dorian, please… Please don’t do this.”

If Chaol thought his begging would prevent what was going to happen, he was dead wrong. In fact, it had the opposite effect. Pleading to make Dorian stop was music to his ears, and when the tip of the knife pierced his skin Chaol’s words became unintelligible as they were replaced by his screams. Oh how he’d missed his, longed for it.

Chaol tried to kick his way free from Dorian’s hold, but it was useless. He knew it, and Dorian knew it.

Dorian had now made a nice cut from Chaol’s wrist to the inside of his elbow, the blood pumping from the wound soaked the sheets beneath them. “I really do prefer red over white. It’s more… dramatic, don’t you think?”

“Dorian, this isn’t you, it’s—”

“Oh, but it  _ is _ me, don’t you see?”

He didn’t give Chaol any time to respond before making an identical cut on his other arm. Any fight left in Chaol disappeared in that moment. He wouldn’t die from it but Dorian wasn’t finished. He would use Chaol’s healing scars as a roadmap and complete the journey he started a couple of weeks ago. 

There would be no mercy. He would— “Dorian.”

A warm touch on his cheek. A whisper of his name. It was all it took to pull Dorian back. Chaol had moved up his body, his eyes shining with concern. “Where did you go?”

“I don’t… I don’t know.” How could he tell Chaol where his mind had gone? How he so easily was sent back to the cell? Torturing Chaol. Enjoying it. Savoring it. “I’m sorry. I...”

In an instant Chaol moved to the side, and Dorian immediately missed his touch. Chaol believed it was something he’d done wrong, Dorian knew it. It was obvious in his withdrawal, as if making sure not to cross some imaginary line. But how could Dorian reassure him that he did everything right without revealing the ugliness that was poisoning his mind?

The knock on the door distracted them both, and Dorian was ashamed that it felt like a relief. “Come in.”

“Your Majesty,” the servant said. “Your breakfast is ready,” she said before ducking out of the room.

“Why is she so afraid of me?” Dorians asked without thinking.

“You’re the king,” Chaol said softly. “Of course she’s afraid of you. Everyone is.”

“Are  _ you _ ?”

A couple of seconds went by. “No.”

Dorian pulled Chaol to him, kissing him. “You better not.” With their lips pushed together, Dorian asked, “Will you come with me?”

“Yeah.” 

They dressed together and Dorian made a point of touching Chaol whenever a moment arose. It was his way of reassuring Chaol that he was sure. He wanted this. Wanted Chaol. And a short moment of weakness would not change that. Chaol had already endured so much. Dorian would carry this burden alone.

Chaol didn’t need the sling anymore so he could use two crutches, but Dorian slung his arm under Chaol’s shoulder so he could lean on him instead. “Let’s go.”

Dorian kept his strides short as they walked to the small council to prepare for the ceremony that would officially make Dorian the King of Adarlan.

* * *

The ceremony itself was a surprisingly short affair. It consisted of a priest calling upon the spirits to guide the monarch in his leadership, the Royal Oath, the placing of the crown on his head, and the Scepter Gift. 

Dorian had learned the Royal Oath as a child; his father had effectively beaten it into him. “Screw it up and you will bring shame to this entire family,” he’d said. Dorian had been too afraid to do anything other than learning the oath by heart and repeating it every night. So when the officiant handed him the scroll, Dorian didn’t need to look at it once. After that he gently placed the crown on Dorian’s head. It was lighter than he had imagined but he still felt the weight of its significance.

The Scepter Gift was a tradition that dated back longer than Dorian knew. The King’s Crown was passed down from each king to the next, but every regent had their own scepter. One of the duties as king was to commission a scepter to his successor, to be presented at the coronation. The scepter was presented by the new king’s heir. It was supposed to be symbolic, the former, the present, and the future king together on such a special day. Since Dorian didn’t have any children, Hollin was next in line to the throne. However, due to the unrest in Rifthold, both he and his mother remained in their mountain residence. Which meant that someone else had to do it, and Dorian could only think of one person that was worthy of the task.

Chaol had stood silent next to the priest and officiant during the ceremony, but now he walked to the altar with the aid of a cane. There, on a pillow laid the scepter Dorian’s father had made for him. Gently, Chaol took it in his hand and returned to his place next to the officiant. The priest said a few words about the importance of this moment but Dorian didn’t listen. He could only look at the staff in Chaol’s hand. Since it was royal matters it was gold, of course, but along the hilt several sapphires had been infused. The top was a larger emerald surrounded by small, curly gold spires.

The officiant gave Chaol the gesture to hand Dorian the scepter, and slowly, he offered it to Dorian. As Dorian took the staff his fingers brushed over Chaol’s. The soft, warm touch was a stark contrast to the cool metal. They locked eyes and even though no words were spoken, everything was said.  _ I’d do anything for you. I love you.  _ Dorian didn’t know if it was the magic in him or the gravity of the moment, but he felt it, and he could only hope that Chaol felt it too, and that he knew that the sentiment was shared.

As with all royal ceremonies there had to be a reception, and as the main event Dorian had to attend. He was seated at the table of honor surrounded by the small council. Even though Chaol had played such a vital role in the coronation he was not a part of the council and had to sit somewhere else. Dorian hated it.

He conversed with the guests at his table, gave them a few nods and “mhm” once in a while, but he didn’t actually listen. Politics was forbidden at these types of events so Dorian figured he didn’t miss anything of note. Every now and then he threw glances Chaol’s way. It was obvious he felt out of place, his eyes often going to the doors and windows, as if checking that the guards were paying attention. Since he wasn’t the Captain of the Guard he wasn’t allowed to wear his usual uniform. Instead he’d found his old guard uniform. Technically he wasn’t a guard either but who would notice, or even care?

Dorian waited until it was acceptable for him to leave. Blaming it on exhaustion from the past several days and tension today, he stood, hoping Chaol would notice and follow his lead. Two servants were immediately at his side to accompany him to his chambers, but Dorian relieved them of their duties. He didn’t need any assistance.

As he closed the door to the dining hall behind him a long sigh passed his lips. He hadn’t realized that this day would be so emotionally charged. The impact of the scepter from his father and the love he felt from Chaol, it was a mixture of heartache and hope, and Dorian didn’t know what to do with it.

Before long the door opened once again and Chaol slipped through the opening. Dorian figured he tried to be smooth, but he could only be so discreet when he had to use a cane to move. The awkwardness of it all made Dorian chuckle. He couldn’t hold it back. “Subtle.”

Chaol looked up, trying to look annoyed, but he couldn’t help himself either. “Shut up.” But the bang of the door slamming behind him only cemented Dorian’s statement, and as Chaol cursed himself Dorian broke out in full out laughter. “This is  _ your _ fault, you know,” Chaol said, gesturing to himself and his cane.

Any other day Dorian would feel a pang of guilt since it was, in fact, his fault, but he was so relieved to see Chaol smiling that he forced those negative thoughts away. Instead, he approached Chaol and slid his arm around his waist, supporting some of his weight. He didn’t know what would happen when they got back to the chambers, but they’d figure it out. They always did. 

As Dorian closed the bedroom door behind them, he leaned against it, watching Chaol. Waiting. Chaol put his cane next to the door and turned against Dorian. He trailed his fingers gently against Dorians’s cheek. “You’re King,” he whispered.

Dorian grabbed Chaol’s hand, kissing his palm. “No, I’m just Dorian.”

At that Chaol pressed his lips to Dorian’s as his hands found Dorian’s hips. Dorian opened his mouth and welcomed Chaol’s mouth as he instinctively moved into Chaol. There was no space between but it still wasn’t enough. Gently, he pushed a hand to Chaol’s shoulder, urging him to move to the bed. Chaol understood Dorian’s intentions and awkwardly limped backward to the foot of the bed. Dorian could feel a smile forming on his lips, but Chaol only threw him a hard look. “Don’t make fun of me,” but he couldn’t hide his amusement either.

By the time they’d both made it to the bed, they were both laughing. But it died the moment Dorian captured Chaol’s lips in his. It was a short, sweet kiss but it had electric pulses of fire spreading throughout Dorian’s body. “This isn’t a laughing matter, you know,” he said and pulled off his shirt over his head. Chaol looked at him like he was a ghost, like he couldn’t believe he was real. His hazel brown eyes roamed over Dorian’s naked torso before he reached out and started to pull at the strings of Dorian’s pants.

He kissed Dorian again as he pushed him down on his back. He trailed openmouthed kisses along Dorian’s cheek, neck, chest. The warmth of Chaol’s kisses spread through Dorian’s body and he was filled with a want he’d never felt before. Dorian sifted his fingers through Chaol’s hair down to his neck and started pulling on his shirt. “This needs to go,” he croaked, because apparently he’d lost his voice. Chaol removed his jacket and shirt as smoothly as he could, but Dorian was too filled with this overpowering need to find it amusing anymore. Chaol’s shoulder was still patched up, but other than that his injuries had healed remarkably well. Thin, white lines were the only other visible reminders of his torture. Dorian reached out to touch his shoulder, but Chaol stopped him. “Let’s not think about that, right now.”

“Okay. What do you want to think about?”

Instead of answering, Chaol went back to unlacing Dorian’s trousers. “This. If that’s alright.”

“Yes,” Dorian said so fast it was almost comical. “Please.”

Chaol made quick work of Dorians pants and undergarments, and Dorian would have felt embarrassed at his obvious arousal if Chaol hadn’t looked at him like… like… like he was a mirage. He left soft kisses along Dorian’s stomach. “I... I’ve never done this before,” he said tentatively.

“You don’t have to. We can do whatever you want.”

“I  _ want _ to do this,” Chaol reassured him. “I guess I’m just a little insecure.”

Dorian loved that. Chaol’s honesty. Even in bed he could open himself up, laying it all out there for Dorian to see. But there was no way Chaol could do anything wrong here. “Just… Just do what  _ you _ like.”

“Okay.” Chaol placed a tentative kiss on the inside of Dorian’s thigh. It was almost enough for Dorian to explode right there and then. Yes, whatever Chaol did, Dorian was sure he was going to enjoy it. After that kiss, Chaol worked himself closer before taking him in his mouth, gripping him at the base as he slowly worked Dorian over.

Dorian wanted Chaol to both go slower and faster at the same time. He wanted more but he didn’t want this to end too fast. But his thoughts only came out at unintelligible grunts which he hoped Chaol interpreted as sounds of pleasure. It didn’t take long before he found a good rhythm, enough to keep Dorian tethering on the edge, but not completely spilling over.

Dorian’s breath hitched and his heartbeat pumped furiously in his head. He could feel the coil winding up inside him, ready to snap at any minute. Chaol squeezed his hand around Dorian and quickened his pace, as if sensing how much Dorian needed it. And that was all it took. The tingling feeling in his groin spread up to his stomach, out to the tips of his fingers and finally up to his brain, fogging his thoughts. He thought he let out a string of expletives but that could have been in his head. But he didn’t care. Dorian had never experienced this kind of high before, and he never wanted to come back down. When he finally did, Chaol had moved so he was now laying on his side, facing Dorian. Dorian was still breathing heavily but that didn’t stop him from unabashedly pushing his tongue into Chaol’s mouth, to which Chaol responded eagerly. He tasted salty but Dorian didn’t mind it one bit.

“I take it you liked it then?” Chaol asked, when Dorian released his lips.

_ Liked it. _ He guessed that was one way of describing it. “Yes,” Dorian reassured before pressing their mouths together once again. “Can I... ” he trailed off. “Can I return the favor?”

Chaol sighed. “I want to.” He turned his head away, as if not being able to look at Dorian. “But I can’t. Not yet.” The defeat in his voice almost brought tears to Dorian’s eyes. He couldn’t believe he’d taken this away from Chaol too.

He put his hand on Chaol’s face, urging him to face him again. “It’s okay. There’s no rush. We’ve got time.”

“I hope so,” was all the answer he got. Instead of overthinking that, Dorian stretched out his arm for Chaol to rest on. He didn’t hesitate as he curled into Dorian’s shoulder. It didn’t take long before Chaol’s breath evened out, and after that Dorian soon fell asleep too.

The morning after Dorian was harshly reminded of his duties. The knock came so early not even Chaol was awake yet. Dorian didn’t want anyone to find them like this. Not because he was ashamed but because he didn’t know how Chaol wanted to handle this. And he wouldn’t be making any decisions about that until they’d discussed it. So he dragged himself out of bed to put on a robe before opening the door, making sure there was no clear view of the bed.

“I’m sorry for waking you, your Majesty, but this was urgent.” The courier handed Dorian a piece of paper before scurrying away.

The sounds must have woken Chaol up because he was watching Dorian as he turned back around. “What is it?”

Dorian quickly read through the short note. He’d read thousands of these before, but none had filled him with such dread as this one. “It’s ah… It’s a formal request for an audience with the King of Adarlan.”

“From?” Chaol asked, but he already knew.

“Terrasen.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! <3 Please consider dropping me a line here or on tumblr.


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